<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>When The Morning Comes by turnofthesentry</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747557">When The Morning Comes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnofthesentry/pseuds/turnofthesentry'>turnofthesentry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Afterlife With Archie, Archie Comics &amp; Related Fandoms, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All Magic Comes With a Price, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Canon Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Consequences, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dark Magic, Ensemble Cast, Family Drama, Magical Accidents, Multi, Non-Canon Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse, Temporal Paradox, Time Shenanigans, Time Travel Fix-It, other characters not mentioned in tags</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:42:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747557</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnofthesentry/pseuds/turnofthesentry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It only takes one paradox to start the ball rolling: One Sabrina Spellman in Greendale and one down in Hell, what could possibly go wrong? Across the water, Riverdale is about to find out exactly what happens when you invoke time magicks without resolving them. </p><p>Second chances, secret histories, overlapping reality glitches, and gruesome losses the likes of which none of them may be prepared for... the timeline, and life as they all know it, may never be the same again.</p><p>Set post-Riverdale S4 and CAOS part 3. Inspired by the <i>Afterlife With Archie</i> comics.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alice Cooper/Hal Cooper, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge/Reggie Mantle, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Chuck Clayton/Josie McCoy, Fangs Fogarty/Kevin Keller, Fred Andrews/Mary Andrews</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When The Morning Comes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here it is at long long last, the first chapter of this <i>monster</i> of a spooky <i>Afterlife With Archie</i>-inspired crossover! Tentatively planned at 13 chapters altogether, which I'll be doing my best to write at a decent clip, but bearing in mind that I'm still working out some of the later story details updates may come at different paces. Hope you all enjoy! </p><p>I can also be reached on tumblr <b>@ <a href="http://reggierightsactivism.tumblr.com/">reggierightsactivism</a></b>, please feel free to message me!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>It all began with a bang, but not in Riverdale. Across the river, where monsters not only live in the hearts of man but in the woods around them, in realms beyond mortal comprehension, an ancient evil stirs. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>They say God works in mysterious ways, and the same can be said for the town of Greendale. Tall tales about witchcraft have drifted across the gentle tide of Sweetwater River for decades, if not centuries. Stories and legends that tell of the Greendale 13, that tell of untold power and unspeakable horrors hidden just beyond ordinary sight; stories that, if true, would hold terrifying implications for the little town across the water if the slightest ritual were to ever go astray. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>That’s the trouble with certain magic. It can never be fully controlled, and even more so, it can never be fully contained. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Be careful what you wish for, the proverb goes, and on that foggy twilight in Riverdale six teenagers were wishing their dead teacher would get up off the ground... move... anything that meant they hadn’t just committed murder.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>...|</strong>
</p><p>Jughead stared at the blank page that still lay before him, trying to figure out how he could recover this story. This had felt like such a good direction when he started, much better than his original rewrite had been (because, upon reflection, he’d realized it left him with no story), but he still felt stuck.   </p><p>“Maybe it’s too far-fetched, even for Riverdale,” he chuckled wryly, a little joke to himself, resting his chin against his palm and turning his gaze briefly toward his window. “A zombie apocalypse would probably be an improvement.” </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em><strong>'cause the devil's in the details and he's taking his toll</strong><br/>
</em>
  </p>
  <p>
  <strong>
    <em>sending good men down the foot trails of some lost lonely souls</em></strong></p>
</blockquote><strong>
  <br/>
</strong><p>Two roads diverged in a dark, foggy wood. Rosalind Walker didn’t want to travel down either of them. </p><p>Even without being able to see what lay ahead on either path, somehow Roz still knew, and both options froze her heart cold with dread and uncertainty. </p><p><em>If only I had my glasses,</em> she thought irrationally, even though it had been months since she’d actually needed them. <em>I can’t see...</em></p><p>Her feet didn’t move, each one pointing down a different road, weighed down as if she were nailed in place. </p><p><em>Something happened here,</em> another part of her brain offered, and Roz knew that too. It was why she was here at this crossroads in the first place. It wasn’t her job to travel down these paths, it was simply her job to know where they both led. </p><p>She couldn’t see it, but she could; she didn’t want to look, but she did anyway. Saw it anyway. </p><p>Both paths were soaked in blood, the dirt trails stained a deep, dark black. Roz knew if she touched it she would see that it didn’t all belong to just one person but many. That’s already so much more than she wanted to know, so she didn’t touch. Didn’t look. No names, no faces.  </p><p>The fog cleared some more, illuminating shapes further along the left road, silhouettes too far away for her to recognize. Roz regretted wishing she could see any better. The sight of those figures in the distance made her blood cold, her eyes widening as she suddenly felt more afraid then she’d ever been. </p><p>They looked <em>broken</em> somehow, limbs contorted and bent at angles no human limbs could survive. Like road kill you’d see that looks like the entire skeleton inside was shattered and rearranged on impact. Even if someone could survive whatever had reduced them to such a state, they would still never be able to <em>move.</em></p><p>They would never be able to stand. Never be able to walk. But one of the silhouettes had begun doing just that towards Roz anyway. Jerking, shambling steps, the sound of broken bones rattling like twigs in her ears. </p><p>Suddenly it was right in front of her. Roz screamed when its dark, rotting eyes caught hers, when it’s misshapen mouth full of long teeth grinned at her.</p><p>When she woke up in her own bed she was still screaming, cold with sweat and moonlight shining on her through the windowblinds. Every time she tried closing her eyes to go back to sleep that night the screaming would start again. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>When Betty woke up that morning, she had no reason to believe it was different from any other morning. She looked over to see Jughead asleep on the window seat, the sundust of morning drawing highlights over his body that made him look partially erased. The balled-up papers and notebook in his lap with-- well, <em>notes</em> scribbled in ballpoint was all Betty needed to make sense of the picture in front of her. Jughead had been doing this a lot lately, staying up late or waking up early to frantically try reworking his story as if doing so would erase that horrible videotape they saw from existence and memory.  </p><p>It had been horrible, and he had <em>felt</em> horrible, because Mr. Honey was gone now and the two of them couldn’t be certain if that might really be him on the videotape or not. <em>If it is</em>, Jughead had said, <em>then isn’t this partly my fault?</em></p><p>Betty swung her legs out of bed, making the executive decision to let Jughead sleep a while longer. She showered and dressed, descending the stairs to the smell of waffles and bacon.</p><p>“Mom, what’s...” </p><p>She’d been smiling a second ago before she rounded the space between the stairs and the kitchen, but then Betty found herself suddenly out of breath, unable to speak further. Still like a statue, Betty stared into the kitchen, her expression perplexed and uncomprehending at who she saw making breakfast. </p><p><em>It’s finally happened,</em> a voice in her mind whispered, strangely more with acceptance than with fear. <em>I’ve actually gone crazy</em>.</p><p>The table was set exactly the way it always used to be, a carton of orange juice in the center next to several different jars of jam, marmalade, and preserves -- she and Polly had never had maple syrup with breakfast unless they went out of town or stayed over at a friend’s house -- a mug for coffee or tea placed at each setting, along with a glass for OJ and one for milk.  </p><p>“Dad?” </p><p>Hal turned around, holding a plate stacked with waffles that he sat down on the table next to the juice carton.  </p><p>“Morning, Betty,” he said cheerily, like nothing was wrong. Like everything was normal. He forked a waffle onto the plate that always, every time they all had breakfast together, would be Betty’s plate, and then turned himself back around to check on the bacon. </p><p>“If your mom and sister don’t wake up soon, we might have to start without them,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Betty with a dorky half-smile. He always said that on mornings when the two of them were the only ones awake and downstairs. </p><p>“Wait, Dad--” </p><p>Betty sat down in her usual seat, because she thought if she didn’t she might just faint instead. Her vision was swimming, heart racing, hundreds of questions rising in her brain like silent alarms, but all she managed to say next was: </p><p>“First, can we... can we go for a walk?” </p><p>Hal looked at her curiously. </p><p>“You mean right now?” </p><p>“Right now,” Betty said, slowly getting her voice back. “Just the two of us.” </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>“Something’s wrong,” Ambrose Spellman said, looking up suddenly from his book. It wasn’t a new feeling, rather one that had been covering him like a blanket for several days now, and he knew exactly what was causing it. </p><p>Well, he <em>had</em> known. First he had known that something about Sabrina was different, <em>off</em>. Then she had told him what she’d done, told him about the time paradox she had created by <em>not</em> merging with her other self when she’d first gone back in time to fix the damage Lord Blackwood had done. So now there were two Sabrina Spellmans existing in this current timeline at once: one here on Earth and one down in Hell. </p><p>And he had known that was dangerous, he had known that was bad, even if Sabrina seemed convinced she had it under control. </p><p>Maybe she did. Ambrose was still less convinced.  </p><p>That had been then, but now, <em>right</em> now, he was certain of it. Something was very, very wrong. </p><p>He could feel discordant energy suffocating the air, pins and needles along his spine intuitively alert the way an old injury comes alive again before a storm. </p><p>“Maybe it’s nothing,” he murmured to himself, knowing it wasn’t true. It was never nothing. Not even once had it ever been nothing, especially not when Sabrina was involved. “Maybe it’ll... sort itself all out.” </p><p>Ambrose stepped out onto the porch, looking toward the woods. The feeling was even stronger out here, if still no easier to put his finger on. He simply felt it, as they say, in his bones.</p><p>“Sorry, cousin,” he said, watching the wind shift through the trees. “Something tells me your clever little ruse won’t be much longer for this world.” </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Fred Andrews opened his eyes and blearily regarded the blinking numbers on his radio alarm clock. 7:15. Later than he’d wanted to wake up -- his job forced him to be an early riser -- but he determined not to beat himself up over it. The way his body ached dully told him he’d needed the sleep. </p><p>Waking up to aches and pains was nothing new to someone who worked a life of construction, and who before that had been one of the star players on many of his school’s athletic teams, but it felt a little sharper this morning. Just the price of getting old, Fred reasoned, yawning as he rubbed at both eyes with the heels of his hands, then turned to look at his sleeping wife laying in bed next to him. He felt a smile tug its way onto his face involuntarily. As if him looking at her could somehow be felt physically, Mary opened her eyes and brushed some hair from her face, smiling back at Fred. </p><p>“Morning,” she said, laughing a little. “What’re you looking at?” </p><p>“You,” Fred said, still smiling before he yawned again and sat up to stretch. “Call me crazy, but it feels like I haven’t seen you in...” </p><p>He frowned a little. Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t place what it was. </p><p>“Forever,” he finished, after another moment. </p><p>“Oohhh, a whole <em>eight hours,”</em> Mary teased, rolling over onto her back and checking her phone. With a groan, she let her hand fall onto her face. </p><p>“Something wrong?” Fred was getting dressed. </p><p>“No, just--” Mary sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I have to go wake Archie up or he’ll be late. <em>Again.”</em></p><p>“What do they even do these days if you show up late? Make him stand in the corner?” </p><p>“It’s third grade, not <em>pre-school.”</em> </p><p>They went about their routines, and then parted ways in the hallway so Fred could go downstairs and Mary could cross over to Archie’s room. She knocked twice and waited thirty seconds for a response. </p><p>“Archie?” <em>Knock.</em> “Are you awake? You’re gonna be late!” </p><p>“Mary, wait--” Fred was back upstairs, looking at his own phone in mild confusion. “It’s Saturday.” </p><p><em>“What?”</em> She whipped her head around, seconds away from arguing this correction before Fred turned his phone around and showed her the date: </p><p>7:23, Saturday, April 18th.</p><p>“That can’t be...” Now Mary frowned, looking back at Fred. Back at the phone. Hearing it and seeing it helped the information click into place for her -- yes, that’s right, it <em>was</em> Saturday -- but then why didn’t it <em>feel</em> right? </p><p>The door opened in front of them and there stood their teenage son, rubbing his eye and brushing his bedhead back off his face in the same movement. </p><p>“Mom, it’s--” Archie’s eyes snapped open, suddenly on Fred. <em>“Dad?”</em></p><p><em>“Archie?”</em> Fred and Mary both stared in disbelief at their son, who was at least twice the age and the height they expected him to be. Mary braced herself against the wall, rubbing at her temple. </p><p>“I think...” Mary realized she didn’t know where that thought was going as soon as she began to speak, so she simply concluded it with: “I think that, uh, <em>maybe</em>... maybe we should all sit down.” </p><p>“Good idea,” Fred muttered, still staring at Archie with something like shock. The only other solution that had come to mind so far was that he needed a drink, and obviously at barely 8 AM that option wasn’t especially ideal. This was a level of unreality that simply couldn’t be processed. “Downstairs? I’ll make us some breakfast.” </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Veronica woke up to an empty home, 45 text messages, 7 voicemails, and a splitting headache. It was a good thing that she was (mostly) a morning person, because the sight of all those notifications on her phone? <em>Not</em> cute. Especially since, without even checking, she was fairly certain she could guess who most -- if not all -- of them were from. </p><p>“Take a <em>breath</em>, Cheryl,” Veronica muttered as she sat up and brushed some hair from her face, picking up her phone again and confirming that, yep, the majority of her messages were from Cheryl, who for the past two weeks had been a complete <em>Promzilla</em>. </p><p>Veronica, Toni, Ethel, Reggie, Kevin, Fangs, Ginger Lopez, and Melody Valentine were all on the prom planning committee, which meant that over the course of the last couple weeks they had all gone from being <em>excited</em> about prom to counting the days until it would finally be over and done with. </p><p>39 messages from Cheryl, plus three voicemails. Three messages from Archie, three from Betty. One voicemail from Kevin, one from Archie, and two from unfamiliar numbers. Veronica groaned and tossed her phone against her bedspread, getting up to wash her face, shower, and dress before she so much as even unlocked the screen. </p><p>“Mom? … Daddy?” </p><p>Veronica strolled out into the dining area, fastening her earrings and brushing hair off her shoulders as she investigated the strangely quiet house. Normally, both of her parents would be up and eating breakfast by now, or at least having coffee, but they were nowhere to be found this morning. Even Hermosa was conspicuously absent, which normally Veronica would barely take note of, but given the eerie silence around her it was hard not to notice. </p><p>Oh well. Veronica wasn’t about to begrudge having a quiet morning to herself for once. Maybe she would even fix herself a mimosa to sip while dealing with her message backlog. </p><p>Cheryl’s were all predictable, of course. Frantic demands as to why Veronica wasn’t responding Changes that needed to be made. Redactions of many of the aforementioned changes. Delegation after delegation and on and on and on. Veronica sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose before moving on to Archie’s texts. </p><p>Much less predictable. In fact, downright confusing. </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>💖<strong>Archiekins</strong>💖 Ron dad is h re a LIVE (<em>sent at 7:30 AM</em>)</p>
  <p>💖<strong>Archiekins</strong>💖 Hi please call me as soon as you can thx (<em>sent at 7:50 AM</em>)</p>
  <p><strong>Betty🌼:</strong> Hi Veronica, is anything weird going on for you this morning? (<em>sent at 7:25 AM</em>) </p>
  <p><strong>Betty🌼:</strong> Just wondering... let me know ASAP. (<em>sent at 7:27 AM</em>)</p>
  <p><strong>Betty🌼:</strong> Anything weird. At all. Literally anything. Especially if it sounds crazy. (<em>sent at 7:30 AM</em>)</p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>Huh?</em>
</p><p>Okay, apparently this was going to be <em>a day</em>. It was <em>Saturday</em>, for God’s sake. Couldn’t she have at least <em>one</em> slow and relaxing morning? </p><p>Of course she’d call Archie back, and Cheryl, too, but first she got herself some coffee to give her strength for the rest of the undoubtedly equally bizarre messages she still had left to go through. She stirred in some milk and opened her voicemail. </p><p>The first three were Cheryl talking about prom, changing her mind twice about the theme before, in the second message, she changed it back while still speaking, then reprimanded Veronica in the third for ‘shirking her duties’ by not responding to her messages yet. Kevin’s message was just an update on how much Cheryl was driving him crazy, and could Veronica please get back to him so he could work with her instead...   </p><p><em>Fifth message</em>: “Veronica, something seriously weird is going on,” came Archie’s voice, sounding quiet and breathless from-- excitement? Fear? Exhaustion? It was hard to tell. “Call me back. My parents are-- <em>okay, Dad, just a sec--</em>” </p><p><em>Sixth message</em>: “Veronica, <em>mija?</em>” It was her mother. <em>“Mijita</em>, listen, I know how crazy this must sound, but I need your help. <em>Please,</em> Veronica, I’m in jail-- I don’t know how I got <em>back</em> here but they won’t let me leave.”  </p><p><em>Seventh message</em>: <em>“Mija,</em> it’s your father. Come down to the prison as soon as you can. I don’t exactly know <em>how</em> it’s happened, or why, but here I am. Don’t worry, you’ll have your time to gloat, but first I need you down here as soon as possible.”    </p><p>Veronica put her phone down and stared forward, blinking in perplexed silence. </p><p>“Okay, <em>what</em> in the first-class <em>hell</em> is going <em>on?”  </em>    </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>The two of them continued their slow walk around the block, a strange silence hanging between them as they both tried to pretend this felt normal. Betty kept catching her father glancing toward her with uncertainty, like he knew <em>something</em> was wrong. He always could read her like a book, and the Coopers weren’t exactly a family that ‘went on walks.’ Clearly, there was a point to this outing beyond enjoying the crisp spring morning. </p><p>“Everything okay, Betty?” he asked hesitantly, in his ‘understanding dad’ voice. He always used it when he wasn’t sure if Betty, Polly, or Alice needed to talk, or if they’d bite his head off for prying. </p><p>Not that Betty ever bit her dad’s head off; that was usually her mom or sister’s arena. Betty had had a good relationship with her dad, once upon a time, and now that was all she could think about as she walked beside him, trying to hold onto this glimpse of the father that she used to know.     </p><p>“Everything’s great, Dad,” she said quietly, offering him a thin smile. Lame and unconvincing, probably, but she wasn’t sure what else to say yet. Was she supposed to have written some letters or made some list of things she wished she could have said to him while he was still alive? It had never even occurred to her; Riverdale hadn’t given the Coopers any room to grieve. </p><p><em>Yeah, gee, wonder why</em>, Betty thought to herself cynically, but even knowing what she now knew about her father, she still couldn’t hate him for it. She was capable of some pretty dark things, herself, so part of her felt like she owed him this-- if her friends could still love and forgive her for some of the things <em>she’s</em> done, how on earth was she supposed to stop loving her own <em>father?</em></p><p>Her gut churned uneasily. </p><p>“Nice day,” he commented. The morning sun dappled the sidewalk between shadows from the trees, the rhythmic buzz of a sprinkler slowly becoming drowned out by a lawn mower from further down the block. </p><p>Betty looked at him, wondering what her father was thinking right now. Was this the same man who murdered Geraldine Grundy, Midge Klump, and the others? The same man who shot Fred Andrews? Or was this the same man who taught her how to ride a bike when she was 7 and snuck her hot chocolate on the days she was too sick to go to school? </p><p>How could any person be all those things at the same time? At least when he was dead Betty didn’t have to grapple anymore with the notion of that unknowable, abstract binary, <em>good versus evil</em>. It lurked in her mind, certainly, haunting her thoughts, but she didn’t have to acknowledge it. </p><p>
  <em>Come on, Veronica. Text me back already. </em>
</p><p>She had no plan, because there was really nothing to say. There was no way to begin or end the sort of conversation a girl might imagine having with her once-dead father who, for all she knew, was still irreparably damaged inside. Not that Betty had ever imagined that conversation in the first place. </p><p>Only what most girls really imagine about their late mothers and fathers: <em>What if we’d had a little more time together? </em></p><p>
  <em>What if he’s the only one who can understand?</em>
</p><p><em>What if. What if.</em> <em>What. If.</em> </p><p>Distantly Betty felt her phone buzz in her pocket, at the same moment her dad put a hand on her shoulder.  </p><p>“So,” he began, eyes shining with patience and caution as they studied hers. “What do you say we head back now and dig into our breakfast before the food gets cold?” </p><p>“Sounds good.” Betty studied his eyes back, but smiled like she meant it (because she did). “I just…” </p><p>She could feel his gentle scrutiny on her even when she looked away, and let her shoulders bounce up in an airy shrug. </p><p>“Wanted to spend some more time with you, I guess. I, um... missed you.”  </p><p>Hal laughed, rubbing at the back of his head and nodding slowly. </p><p>“Well, now that I’m finally moved back into the house, I don’t plan on leaving again anytime <em>soon.</em> I missed my girls too much.”  </p><p>Betty continued to smile, dropping her gaze and saying nothing more. Her stomach stirred again, this time in anticipation of the spread waiting for them back at the house.  </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Fred, Mary, and Archie felt like they were handling things pretty well so far, considering the unusual circumstances. It hadn’t taken them longer than an hour -- if that -- to get onto similar pages as each other, if only because seeing was believing. There was nothing to do but accept what was happening, because there was Archie in all his 18-year-old glory, and there were Fred and Mary, still married and in good health, no matter how many times each of their minds tried to insist that it made no sense. </p><p><em>It doesn’t, though. It makes no sense, </em>thought Archie with simple confusion. He wasn’t upset by this (how could he be?), but it <em>was</em> confusing. This was the sort of thing that happened in comic books, like DC’s <em>Crisis on Infinite Earths</em> or Booster Gold merrily hopping backwards in time, but <em>now</em> it was happening to him, too. To <em>them</em>. </p><p>
  <em>Please let this not be a dream.</em>
</p><p>It probably was a dream, but it still felt real enough to Archie that he felt no shame in letting himself believe -- for now at least -- that it was real. His parents seemed just as confused as he was, but they were laughing and bantering with each other like old times, circling back often to how alarmed they were at how much Archie had <em>grown.</em> They wanted to know everything about him, interrogating him in that overeager-but-well-intentioned parent kind of way. </p><p>His mom had a mustache from the cream in her coffee, and Archie exchanged a silent look of amusement with his father over her head. Vegas, the most confused of all of them, whined at his feet, but quieted once Archie tossed him down a scrap of bacon. </p><p>Archie’s phone lit up with Veronica’s name, and he held up a finger to signal to his parents he was going to take the call. He swiped the screen and set it to speakerphone. </p><p>“Ronnie?” </p><p>“Archie? Is that-- what--” She seemed momentarily thrown by the fact she was on speakerphone, but recovered quickly. Archie’s parents leaned in, grinning and mouthing ‘<em>Archie’s girlfriend’ </em>at each other. “In your message you said something about your <em>parents...?”</em> </p><p>“Yeah, hi,” Archie said, grinning as well. “Say hello to my girlfriend Veronica, guys.”</p><p>They both said their hellos, to which Veronica had no response for several long seconds. Then she said, “Um, Mary! Fred! Wow. Good morning!” in that easy chipper tone she could charm almost anyone with. After a pause, she added: “Archie, can you take me off speaker?” </p><p>He picked up the phone, his parents both smirking and waving him off to take it in the other room. Archie waved back and stepped out onto the porch, giving Fred and Mary a few moments alone to digest and discuss what just happened. </p><p>“Hey,” Archie said, holding the phone to his ear as he stepped out onto the porch. “Thanks for--” </p><p><em>“Archie.”</em> Veronica sounded alarmed, and bizarrely, for a moment Archie couldn’t understand why, too caught up in the euphoria of the morning. Right, duh... <em>his parents.</em></p><p>“Look, I can--” Actually, he couldn’t explain. He’d accepted it, because he wanted to and because there wasn’t any other choice, but there was no way to <em>explain </em>it.</p><p>“I swear this day has been like some kind of non-stop waking <em>nightmare,”</em> Veronica interrupted, sounding frazzled in a very personal way, like this news about Archie’s parents wasn’t even the tip of her iceberg-sized stress levels. “And it’s barely even noon.” </p><p>“Veronica, wait, what’s going on?” </p><p>He adjusted the phone against his ear, sitting on the porch steps and listening to the sound of her breathing-- recomposing herself, probably. Trying to find the right words. Veronica hesitated a little bit longer, before struggling to explain her morning: how both her parents were somehow mysteriously <em>back in prison</em>, how her sister was nowhere to be found, how Betty had texted about <em>her</em> dad being alive and in her house. </p><p>(Also, something about Cheryl and prom; Veronica was talking pretty fast, Archie kind of tuned out for that part.) </p><p>“Archie.” Veronica’s voice had an undefinable desperate edge to it, firm despite some trembling. <em>“What </em>is<em> going on?”</em></p><p>“I don’t know,” he said, because it was the truth. He could see his parents sitting around the kitchen island through the window; they waved to him, and he waved back. “Hey, why don’t you come over? No reason why you should have to deal with all this by yourself.” </p><p>Archie doesn’t even know where to begin with solving this mystery, but maybe his parents will have a few ideas. </p><p>“Are you sure?” Veronica sounded relieved, voice suddenly light and airy and utterly angelic. He could imagine the expression she was probably making right now, and it made Archie feel a sharp pang of affection and excitement at the idea of reintroducing her to his parents. They would love her, of course, he already <em>knew</em> that, but-- </p><p>Well, anyway. </p><p>“I’ll head over soon,” she said. “After I finish tying up a few more loose ends. Let me know if anything happens before I get there, all right?” </p><p>“Yeah.” Archie nodded, signalling to his parents again that he’d be inside in a minute. “See you soon.” </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>“A time paradox,” mused Nick Scratch, looking out the window over the foggy grass. “I guess we all should have seen <em>that</em> one coming.” </p><p>“Yes, well…” Ambrose felt obligated to defend his dear cousin Sabrina, but did she ever make it difficult sometimes. “... So it would seem.” </p><p>“What does that…” </p><p>“Hard to say, as of <em>yet,”</em> Ambrose interrupted, intuiting Nick’s question. “But I’d wager we will be finding that out very soon. It’s like a line of dominoes-- the ripples will create even <em>further</em> ripples, and as the timeline becomes progressively more and more flawed, we begin to see the dire consequences it poses to reality as we know it, <em>irreconcilable incongruities</em> which will--” </p><p>“So why tell me?” Nick looked back over at Ambrose, hands in his pockets. “You know cleaning up Spellman messes isn’t my job anymore.”  </p><p>He said it with an even, deliberate tone that stopped Ambrose’s borderline panic in its tracks, and made him suspect it wouldn’t actually be that hard at all to talk Nick into involvement. He -- much like Ambrose himself -- could rarely resist the excitement of investigating a rare and complex magical enigma such as this one. </p><p>“I thought you might pass the message along to Prudence,” Ambrose said casually, lounging back on an armchair with one leg draped over the back. His demeanor belied the calm intrigue that shone in his eyes. “Since, as you may have heard, she’s decided the two of us are no longer on speaking terms.” </p><p>“Oh, a little bird might have mentioned it,” Nick said with a smirk. He didn’t really believe that was <em>the </em>reason Ambrose was confiding in him, but it was certainly a convenient excuse. “What does Pru have to do with it?” </p><p><em>“That,”</em> Ambrose began, sitting up in the chair. “Will be up to Prudence herself, although I imagine she may well <em>appreciate</em> this rare opportunity to, perhaps, right certain wrongs of our recent past. After all, who doesn’t wish for a second chance now and then?”  </p><p>Or would it be a <em>third</em> chance, in this case? Not that Prudence would remember that. Ambrose hardly did, himself. </p><p>“Right.” Nick’s expression darkened briefly in a way Ambrose couldn’t see past, but then it cleared, like a cloud passing over the sun. “So she can kill her father and get her sisters back.” </p><p>“Indeed.” Ambrose winced ever so slightly, remembering the way Prudence had accused him of so dooming Dorcas to her lonely murder and Agatha to her chaotic madness when he stopped her from killing Father Blackwood back in Scotland when she had the chance. </p><p>Perhaps she had even been right. Rotten luck all around, really. Even if you didn’t count the possibility of time and space coming unravelled around them all because Sabrina <em>insisted</em> upon being in two places at once. </p><p>Unholy <em>heaven</em> did his cousin exhaust him sometimes. Maybe this whole catastrophe would at least prompt Prudence to turn some of her righteous fury back toward Sabrina instead of on him. </p><p>“But do me the favor, Nicholas, of not telling my aunties about what I--” </p><p>“Uh.” Nick grimaced in an all-too-familiar way, that <em>they’re right behind you, actually</em> kind of grimace that Ambrose normally would find amusing if he weren’t the one in the hot seat. Nick pointed right as Ambrose let out a sigh, turning his head to see Zelda standing cross-armed and chain smoking in the doorway. </p><p>“Hullo, Auntie Zee,” he said glumly. </p><p><em>Sorry, Sabrina.</em> He really had tried his best. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>When they got back to the house Betty rushed inside ahead of her father, remembering that Jughead was still upstairs in her room last she’d checked. She cast a quick glance toward Polly’s room when she got to the hallway, wondering if her sister was really in there or if her dad only <em>thought</em> Polly was home, but she could wait a little longer to confirm that. </p><p>First things first.   </p><p>“Jughead?” She knocked lightly on the door with her knuckles in nearly the same movement as opening it (something her mother often did that always drove Betty a little crazy), eyes sweeping quickly across the room. He had moved from the window seat to her bed, blankets pulled almost completely over his head, looking so normal it was almost hard to believe the bizarre morning she had been having had actually happened. All she wanted to do was climb into bed and go back to sleep.   </p><p>She lay down next to Jughead over the covers, resting her arm lightly over the blanketed bump beside her. Something about the way Jughead was breathing made Betty suspect he wasn’t asleep, but her mind was so jumbled with the loud chaotic static of confusion that she felt content, for the moment, to just lie there in silence. </p><p>Just for a minute or two. She needed to collect herself again before she considered going back downstairs to face whoever might be waiting there. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>“Reggie, Cheryl <em>is</em> going to kill you. You do know that, right?”</p><p>“Oh, he knows. How could he not kn--” </p><p>“Guys, <em>guys...”</em></p><p>Fangs’s voice was lowered to a murmur as if he and Kevin weren’t standing right behind Reggie, close enough that he could hear them perfectly. He rolled his eyes and turned around on his heels, hands held out to address the both of them.  </p><p><em>“Relax.</em> Cheryl won’t find out until prom night or later, <em>trust</em> me,” he said, sounding entirely untrustworthy. The silent look Kevin and Fangs exchanged briefly suggested that neither of them was convinced, even if Reggie had clearly already convinced himself that his prank would be as subtle as it was harmless. </p><p>Admittedly it <em>was</em> harmless, although Cheryl wouldn’t think so if she found out about it. All Reggie was doing was taking some creative liberties with the decorations, meticulously tagging every prom poster they put up with glow-in-the-dark secret messages painted on. Cheryl <em>had</em> been driving them all completely nuts directing the planning committee like a dictatorship, so Kevin and Fangs were in theory quite supportive of Reggie’s small revenge, but only if it was him alone who would face Cheryl’s wrath if they were caught. </p><p>Kevin did feel a little guilty about that. Even though Reggie had never held it against him when Kevin threw him under the bus to Principal Honey on Halloween, it wasn’t the sort of thing he actually wanted to make a <em>habit</em> of. Weirdly, Reggie was actually their friend. </p><p>Technically, Kevin supposed he and Reggie had been friends for a while, but ‘friend’ never quite seemed like the appropriate label for them. <em>Friends</em> implied a certain degree of closeness. They’d never had issues or discomfort with each other as far as either could remember but they also hadn’t hung out or spoken much before sophomore year. </p><p>(<em>Fangs</em> and Reggie being friends now after everything that happened that year was the surprising part, frankly. Kevin desperately wanted to know what the story there was, but he still didn’t feel close enough to Fangs to ask something quite that personal.) </p><p>The two of them circled the corner to put up some more posters while Reggie continued to vandalize the others, joking amongst themselves in a comfortable way that made them inclined to feel excited about prom again. As long as Cheryl wasn’t lurking nearby ready to spring on them like a controlling jack-in-the-box it was easy to look beyond all the work they still had to do and think about how fun the night itself could be. </p><p>“Hey, where’d Reggie go?” </p><p>He had yet to come around the corner to join them. It had been about fifteen minutes since last they’d seen or heard from him, in fact, which was strange considering Reggie wasn’t a particularly quiet person. Plus it was Saturday, so they were on their own in the silent, echoey hallways. </p><p>“Reggie?” Kevin backtracked, frowning uneasily. He hadn’t noticed how encompassing that silence was until just now after attention had been called to it. Before, even when Reggie had been out of sight they could still clearly <em>hear</em> him, talking to himself or whistling or simply making lots and lots of noise.</p><p>“Maybe he left,” Fangs suggested. “Ditched us so we’d have to finish up the rest by ourselves.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Kevin said, sounding skeptical. He wouldn’t necessarily put that past Reggie, but it doesn’t fully make sense to him, either. “But then why would--” </p><p><em>“Or</em> he’s trying to give us some alone time,” Fangs continued, moving a little closer to flirtily lean his arm on Kevin’s shoulder. “You know... <em>together?”</em></p><p>Kevin smirked thinly, not drawing away from the touch, but he still didn’t feel convinced.  </p><p><em>You’re being ridiculous,</em> he told himself. What else could have happened? Reggie obviously didn’t just vanish into thin air, and he was somewhat notorious for blowing things off as soon as he got bored. </p><p>“Sure,” Kevin said with a nod, trying to shake that uneasy feeling. It wasn’t just Reggie, the school <em>itself</em> felt different somehow, as if the atmosphere had changed in some inscrutable way. “Or at least that’ll probably be his <em>excuse</em> for bailing on us if we actually decide to confront him on it later.” </p><p>They both laughed, turning to make their way down the remainder of the hallway, and that’s when they noticed it. Kevin’s hand jumped in shock to touch Fangs on the arm. </p><p>“Wait, Kevin…” Fangs looked at him, eyes suddenly wide with frightened confusion. “Is that--”</p><p>It was. At the far end of the hallway they both recognized the locker shrine that had once decorated a locker that had once belonged to Midge Klump, but that had been over a year ago. </p><p>Had Reggie done this before leaving? Another prank, but this time aimed rather aggressively at the two of them? It was the initial conclusion both of them couldn’t help but jump to, but it didn’t make any more sense than Reggie’s disappearance had. He <em>might </em>pull a prank like this if he still blamed them for what happened to Midge (and, in fact, Kevin wasn’t sure that Reggie had ever blamed <em>him</em> even if Kevin had certainly blamed himself), but he didn’t, and neither of them was sure Reggie would take such an insensitive approach regardless. </p><p>But maybe he would. Reggie would be undoubtedly pissed if anyone tried to prank <em>him</em> this way, but the hypocrisy itself wouldn’t be a surprise. He often held himself to different standards than he held anyone else, for better or worse.</p><p>“Kevin, look.” </p><p>Kevin looked down at the stacks of posters they held that Fangs was currently staring at. </p><p>“What…” </p><p>Snapping his head up, Kevin looked down the hallway only to see the same posters in their hand papered up and down the walls and lockers, not a poster for prom night at all but for <em>Carrie.</em></p><p>“It’s not possible,” he murmured breathlessly, eyes wide, hands falling slack so that he dropped the posters he was holding. They fluttered over the floor like scattered dominos, but neither boy seemed to notice. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Jughead had seen Betty and Hal outside together when he woke up on the window seat, face pressed to the pane of glass, and his first instinct had nearly been to laugh. <em>Zombies,</em> he thought absurdly. <em>What do you know? Ask and you shall receive. </em></p><p>As he woke up the more troubled he was by this impossible visual, of course -- it was impossible that he could have just seen <em>Hal Cooper,</em> zombie or not -- but there was no one around to help him process it except himself, which was a daunting prospect. Jughead’s imagination was notorious for getting ahead of him, but what he thought and what he<em> saw </em>were very different categories. He wasn’t prone to hallucinations, he could usually trust his own eyes. Sometimes they were all he trusted. </p><p>“Get a grip,” he hissed to himself, wondering if maybe he’d just still been half-asleep. It was tempting to believe that, but even if he didn’t understand it, Jughead knew better. </p><p>His phone had tumbled to the floor at some point during the night, and looking at it reminded Jughead of that stupid story he wrote, of the video tape he and Betty had found. Afterward, he had actually called the number provided on Mr. Honey’s recommendation letter and left a voicemail thanking him for writing it, hoping that somehow that would undo whatever damage had been done-- hoping that Mr. Honey would answer and prove that he wasn’t dead at all. </p><p>Stupid. Reality didn’t work that way, unfortunately. </p><p>Jughead picked up his phone and looked at the screen, frowning a little upon observing he had a new voicemail. People didn’t call him often, or ever, and when they did they almost never left messages. </p><p>The number was familiar, given that he’d dialed it just the night before. Mr. Honey had actually called him back. </p><p>Suddenly Jughead didn’t want to sit by the window anymore, nor did he want to venture downstairs where further surprises might be waiting for him. </p><p>He needed to think. He needed to figure this out. </p><p>Jughead climbed into Betty’s bed and pulled the covers over his head, shutting his eyes, not wanting to see anything more.   </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>